


Funeral for a Horse

by JAKQ7111



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Animal Death, Crying, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Crying, Minor Character Death, Minor Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Leonie Pinelli, Minor Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Supportive Ignatz Victor, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAKQ7111/pseuds/JAKQ7111
Summary: When Dorte the horse dies suddenly, Marianne is stricken with grief. Ignatz takes it upon himself to organize a funeral for his lover's precious pet.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Leonie Pinelli, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Marianne von Edmund/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A warning if you aren't into the death of an animal or displays of grief. This isn't especially graphic, but readers should be warned anyway.

It was the middle of the Horsebow Moon, in the year 1186. It had been several weeks since the Alliance won the war, and the former members of the Golden Deer house were hard at work rebuilding their beloved Fodlan. While Claude and Hilda were commuting back and forth between Fodlan and Almyra on diplomatic duties, the rest of the army remained stationed at Garreg Mach Monastery, as the central location continued to prove useful for peace negotiations and discussions of internal matters within the recovering Fodlan.

While these negotiations continued to go on, most of the Garreg Mach residents continued to go about their normal lives. After all, food still needed to be prepared, supplies procured, buildings maintained, and the animals fed and groomed. Marianne often took the lead on the latter tasks, since she always felt more comfortable around horses than people. She especially looked forward to her daily conversations with Dorte, her combat mount and beloved pet. Dorte never judged her for being shy or feared her cursed Crest; he was always there to listen to her, and occasionally nuzzle and lick her hands. He was her best friend.

After a long day of meetings with the various lords of the Alliance and Almyran dignitaries discussing the exact terms of their peace agreements and how to divide up the remaining lands left by the fallen Empire and Kingdom, there was nothing the softspoken, introverted Marianne wanted more than to go to the stables and brush Dorte's exquisite mane to calm her nerves. When she arrived, however, her pet was shockingly nowhere to be found. She searched the stables high and low for any sign of Dorte, but came up empty. She began to get frantic—or at least as frantic as her reserved nature would allow her to get—and rushed to find the nearest attendant.

Cyril was on stable duty that day. Being a commoner orphan, he never saw much point in sitting in on all of that political junk he wouldn't understand anyway, so he preferred to take on more of the maintenance jobs around the monastery. He was certainly used to it by this point, so it was easy for him. He was busy refilling the water trough when he spotted Marianne hurrying toward him.

“Can I help you?” the Almyran asked in his usual brusque tone. “I'm a little busy at the moment.”

“D-Dorte. Where is Dorte?” Marianne stuttered, her eyes wide with worry over her beloved horse.

“Dorte? You mean the horse who died this morning?” Cyril replied, perhaps too nonchalantly given the situation.

Marianne's face fell as a chill overtook her whole body. “H-he died?” the blue-haired woman shakily asked as her eyes filled with tears.

“Yeah.” Cyril answered, now turning his head to face the animal lover, “He was a pretty old horse. Older than me, I'm pretty sure. I guess it was just his time to go.”

“I...I just...” Marianne started, looking down at her feet as tears fell from her brown eyes, “I didn't even get...to say goodbye to him. E-excuse me.” she let out a sob as she ran from the stables, leaving Cyril alone at the trough.

After running for several minutes, Marianne found herself outside the first floor dormitories. She knocked rapidly on one door in particular, hoping to talk with the only individual besides Dorte that she trusted with this much of her vulnerability.

“Who is it?” called Ignatz from behind the door. He always retired to his bedroom to sketch after long meetings. It was his way of relaxing after dealing with the stresses of post-war political dealings.

“I-it's me” the holy woman answered, her voice shaky as she struggled to fight back another sob. “May I...come in...for a moment?”

“Of course, Marianne!” the artistic assassin opened the door to find Marianne practically panting from her earlier sprint, her cheeks stained with tracks of tears.

Upon seeing the distraught young woman on his doorstep, Ignatz immediately began to frown with concern. “Is something the matter?” he asked, already knowing that something clearly was.

“D-Dorte...” Marianne began to cry anew at even the sound of her favorite horse's name, “Dorte is dead!” she wailed, screaming possibly the loudest she has ever screamed in her life.

Ignatz immediately wrapped his arms around his blue-haired companion, enveloping her in a tight, comforting hug. He knew he wasn't going to be able to say anything to make Marianne feel better, but this was the best he could do in the moment. He loved Marianne, and wanted to be there for her in any way he knew how.

Marianne cried in Ignatz's arms for several minutes, her body shaking as she sobbed heavily into her lover's shoulder. Ignatz, in response, continued to hold her tightly against his own body, stroking her light blue hair and whispering words of reassurance in her ear. As distraught as she was over the loss of her best animal friend, she was grateful for having a warm shoulder like Ignatz's to cry on. He always gave the best hugs, all those years of swordplay and archery having toned his arms considerably, and she was glad to be able to receive them whenever she wanted.

A few minutes passed, and Marianne began to calm down, her sobs softening and shaking body stilling. She loosened her grip on Ignatz, hands settling around his waist. She looked up at her partner with red-rimmed eyes and softly smiled at him.

“Thank you, Ignatz.” the bereaved holy woman sniffled as she addressed the young man holding her, “I really needed that.”

Ignatz smiled back at her, his cheeks turning pink, “Anytime.” he replied, still speaking in hushed tones of reassurance, “I'm always here if you need me, Marianne.” the bespectacled assassin continued as he wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

Marianne couldn't help but blush at this gesture of pure sweetness. She shyly looked down at the ground as she mustered the strength to speak once more. “I just...wish I could have said goodbye to him.” she let out one more hiccup as her voice began to break.

The artist frowned at this, trying to think of something he could say to console his tearful loved one. After a quick, silent prayer to the Goddess for inspiration, an idea struck him. His face lit up as he addressed the blue-haired woman before him.

“What if we held a funeral for Dorte?” he proposed, “I could talk to the professor to see about setting it up?”

Marianne's eyes widened, taken aback by her companion's thoughtful gesture. “Y-you would really do that?” she asked for confirmation.

“Of course! I'll go find the professor now and see if she can help.”

“Thank you, Ignatz! Thank you so much!” the animal lover exclaimed as she threw her arms around her lover one more time. He blushed one more time as she held him. After a few seconds of prolonged contact, the healer let go of the assassin as he went to seek the professor's assistance.


	2. Chapter 2

One week after Marianne and Ignatz found out about Dorte's death, the much-beloved horse's funeral was finally underway. Garreg Mach's cemetery was too small to bury a horse, so Professor Byleth encouraged the monastery's fire mages to cremate him and mark an honorary grave instead of a traditional burial. Byleth led the funeral procession herself, with Archbishop Seteth at her side. The entirety of the former Golden Deer house marched behind their former mentors from the cathedral to the cemetery.

Once the procession arrived at the cemetery, the mourners circled around the newly-marked grave, their shared grief showing in their own unique ways. Claude stood near the front of the group, placing some Almyran irises on the grave before moving to place his hands on Hilda's shoulders, the pink-haired girl holding her head down in sadness. Lorenz wore an ornate black suit, and like Claude, placed some flowers, Gloucester-grown white lilies, on Dorte's tombstone before stepping back into the crowd. Lysithea also wore tasteful black clothing, and tried to fight back her tears. She felt that openly weeping over a horse she barely knew would only serve to forever paint her as a snot-nosed child. Still, a few stray tears managed to escape her iron will as they fell from her pale pink eyes. Raphael was considerably less restrained, freely letting the tears fall from his eyes as he stood behind his former comrades-in-arms. Bernadetta was one of the louder mourners, sobbing heavily and occasionally blowing her nose into a handkerchief she embroidered herself. Catherine and Shamir were situated off to the side, away from the main crowd. The swordswoman had a tight grip on her partner's sleeve as she bit down on her trembling lip, while the sniper simply scanned the grounds, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Sylvain, Felix, and Leonie stood towards the back of the group, maintaining a quiet stoicism amidst the sea of grief. Still, even the cold-hearted swordsman and diligent hunter felt the need to hold each other's hands for comfort while their friend looked on in approval of their newfound closeness. Flayn's lips trembled as her eyes filled with tears, giving them the appearance of two lily pads floating in a small pond. She looked to her <strike>father</strike> brother for emotional support, and he obliged, letting her sob into his chest. Dorothea and Manuela sang a prepared dirge, their mezzo-soprano voices coming together in hauntingly beautiful harmony to honor the horse's death. Once the former divas' song had ended, they took their places in the crowd, the younger of the pair standing beside her fiancee, resting her head on the former professor's shoulder, letting out a quiet hiccup as her green eyes glistened.

Seteth took his arms away from Flayn's body as he stepped forward to give his speech. “We are gathered here today to honor the life of one of Garreg Mach Monastery's unsung heroes. Dorte served many roles during his life here at the monastery: He was a skilled combat mount, beloved pet, and most of all, a friend to many generations of students at our fair Officer's Academy." 

Upon hearing that last sentence, Catherine broke down, remembering her own Academy days with Dorte and Christophe. She buried her head in Shamir's shoulder and sobbed, her partner and lover awkwardly wrapping her arm around her shoulders, not really knowing what else to do.

"In the name of Saint Cichol, patron saint of horses, and of Saint Cethleann, patron saint of life and death, we praise Dorte, and send him off to the Goddess in eternity.” The assembled mourners nodded in response.

“Now, then.” the saintly bishop continued, “We have a eulogy written by one of Dorte's frequent caretakers. Marianne von Edmund, if you please.”

Marianne looked up from the ground, head turning to Ignatz for support. He simply smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder before stepping back. The blue-haired woman stepped forward, turned to face her fellow mourners, and began to speak.

“Th-thank you, Seteth.” the holy knight began, taking a deep breath before continuing with her speech. “Dorte was a great horse, but he was so much more than that. He saved my life on the battlefield countless times, he always listened to me when I was feeling depressed, and...” she paused, letting out a sob as she held her favorite blue silk handkerchief to her mouth, “He was my best friend.”

Ignatz looked on as his black-clad lover paused once more, his face drawn as he witnessed the love of his life stricken with such grief. Still, he continued to remain strong. He had to for her sake, he said to himself as he breathed deeply and listened.

Marianne wiped her eyes with her handkerchief before starting up again, “Dorte, I'll always miss our afternoon chats, how silky your mane was after I'd brush it, the way you would always lick my hands after I gave you your favorite apples...” her voice broke as she recalled all of the wonderful memories she shared with her equine friend, “I love you, Dorte. May the Goddess always watch over you.” she finished, returning to Ignatz's side. He held her once again as she sobbed into his chest.

Seteth once again took the floor and addressed the group. “Thank you, Marianne, for that beautiful eulogy. It is clear that Dorte will be sorely missed here at Garreg Mach, and so I have decided that his stable will remain empty from this day forward, serving as a sort of memorial for the departed horse. May he rest in peace, with the Goddess' eternal protection.” and with these words, the funeral was over and the crowd of mourners dispersed.

After the ceremony, Marianne had retired to her bedroom to be alone with her thoughts. She continued to wear her black funeral dress and veil, and her makeup had run considerably down her cheeks, mingling with her tears. After a few hours of silence, she heard a knock on her door.  
“Yes?” she called from inside, continuing to sniffle and hiccup slightly.

“It's Ignatz. May I come in?” the bespectacled assassin replied, his voice soft and low.

“Of course.” Marianne answered, opening the door to find her partner awkwardly standing before her, hands carefully placed behind his back. “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked, fidgeting with her tear-soaked handkerchief as she looked up at him.

“Oh, no. It's nothing like that.” Ignatz began to blush, “I actually wanted to give you something.”

“Oh? What is it?” the bereaved holy knight's curiosity was piqued.

“It's...just something I painted this week. I hope you like it.” the shy artist brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing a long canvas--a watercolor painting of Marianne riding Dorte, with a vibrant sunset in the background.

Marianne's face lit up, her eyes welling up once again, but this time with tears of pure joy. “I...I love it! Thank you so much!” the holy knight hugged her artistic partner tightly as she happily sobbed into his shoulder.

Ignatz blushed once more as he held her, his hands gripping the back of her dress in a gesture of security. “I'm so glad you like it.” he breathed, relieved that his hard work was this appreciated. “What do you say to hanging this somewhere?” he suggested.

After catching her breath, Marianne replied, “Yes. I want to hang this on my bedroom wall, where I can look at it every day.”

The artist loosened his grip on his partner to get a look at her beaming face. “That sounds great. That way, you can always have it as a reminder that Dorte is watching over you.” he said, his smile wide and his cheeks pink.

“Yes, and...” the blue-haired woman paused for a moment, “It will remind me that you are, too.” she smiled a knowing smile at him.

Ignatz's blush grew deeper, his soft smile growing as wide as possible as he mussed the back of his hair with his hand.

“Of course, Marianne. I love you, and always will.” he confessed, feeling a weight off his shoulders to see Marianne's beautiful smile return after over a week of mourning.

“I...I love you too, Ignatz.” the holy woman breathed as she hugged her partner once more, feeling that sense of safety and comfort in his arms once again.

About a minute passed with the young couple in each other's warm embrace before they let go of each other. Ignatz was the first to break the silence. “Well, shall we put up this painting? I brought a hammer and nails to mount the frame to your wall.”

Marianne nodded at the thoughtful artist, and she led him into her bedroom.


End file.
